The Journal of Samuel Samantha Waterman
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Through Water free porn video
I was sitting in my little boat happily chatting with those on the shore, when someone crept up and cut the tether, leaving me to float further and further from human companionship. The tears well up in my eyes, and I search frantically for the paddles, but there are none. There is only me, the boat, and the vast blue ocean, dead and silent.
When my boat brushes by islands, the inhabitants stare at me with distrust, perhaps even disgust for the fact that I am a lone woman floating on the sea. Maybe they envy me, not knowing I am a prisoner of the ocean. A few call to me in friendly voices, but I no longer speak their language. I can understand them if I try, but I cannot make the words come to my lips. I am alone.
I sleep and dream. In my dream the boat has disappeared, the ocean is gone. I am walking through everyday life, yet I am still invisible, still adrift. I work, I eat, I mainly drink. The dream becomes a blur as I become drunk. For a moment I forget I am alone. Only for a moment. As the alcohol soaks into my sleeping self I become further detached. There is no life in the ocean, there is only me.
When I awake I find I have washed up onto land. My boat is in pieces along the shore. I am cut and bruised, blood oozing from my open wounds. I know I am alive. The blood tells me. I stop and listen to my blood. It is the first voice I have heard in days, months, centuries. It tells me secrets about myself, things I never wanted to know. Falling to my knees I begin to cry. Only the gulls answer me.
I sit and stare across the water. On some shore I cannot see across the blue waste of water lies a place that once may have been home. I try to remember what it was like there, what I did, who I loved. I almost remember when my wounds reopen and I allow myself to sink into blackness. Images drown me in the water that is now my home. A snippet of laughter, a soft kiss, a forgotten bit of sun. It is only the jeering of the gulls high above.
There is sand in my mouth. A continent stretches behind me yet I do not look for others of my kind. I do not know if there are others like me. I spit out the sand and each grain turns into a dream before sinking back into the beach. I look towards the forest stretching in one direction, then my eyes turn back to the ocean. I yell at the gulls who won’t quit mocking me. I yell at the sky above and the endless water. I yell into eternity.
No one answers.
I am thirsty. A walk along the beach until I find a stream. It is a small blue ribbon snaking out from the woods until its essence is swallowed by the sea. It gives up its very existence to merge with the sea. I envy it a moment. When I take a drink I try to pull some of its soul into myself. I feel stronger. The forest beckons.
Many days pass. The gulls have decided to leave me be for now. My blood has dried into a hard shell that even their accusations cannot pierce. My tears have dried, streaking my face with the scars of their passage. I am still alone. I gaze at the ocean one last time before heading into the forest.
I rest against the thick trunk of an oak tree. The leaves fall, gently brushing across my body, cleansing me of my long exile. The salty tang of the sea has been replaced with the gentle odor of dirt and plants, life and death. I allow the leaves to bury me as I gaze at an errant ray of light that has pierced the canopy overhead. For the first time since my boat was cut loose I remember contentment. I grasp at it as it swirls before my feet.
A soft voice beckons me from my leafy grave. I shake the bark that has sealed my eyes closed loose and follow the sound. I follow it through the woods. I climb steep hills. Small brooks cross my path. The water is soft against my legs. I look at them, unable to comprehend that these are my legs, my hands. I have been estranged from my body too long. The sensations in my skin are as odd as the feel of the damp wood that surrounds me. The voice is always just ahead. I grow weary and long for the beach. I long for the skeleton of my boat.
For the second time I weep.
I sniff the air, searching for the smell of salt that has become all too familiar. I search for my scars but cannot find them. The forest has healed my body. My mind is not shattered yet. I will return to the shore and beg the gulls to accept me. I will fly above the ocean until the sun and salt and sea consumes me like Icharus reborn. I will the feathers to sprout from my fingertips. The voice grows distant, receding on the wind. In the distance blue water sparkles through the trees. I make my way towards it. My future is my past.
The beach is as I left it. Dead and still, not even the gulls are screaming at me as I return. In the sand are footprints that do not belong to me. I follow them from the forest along the winding curve of the shore. I am alone. I search my soft sunburnt skin for the feathers I will need, but they have not appeared yet. I sit in the sand with my arms folded across my knees. I stare at the sun on the waves, imagining my body bursting into flames as Icharus and the Phoenix merge. One doomed to fall smoldering beneath the waves, the other doomed to rise from them.
A touch on my shoulder causes me to raise my eyes. A smile greets me. It is at once strange and familiar. In his eyes I recognize the knife that cut free the boat. I recognize the islanders I passed. I recognize the blood that encased me, the forest that balked me. I recognize the gulls, the ocean, the oak. I recognize him. I see the salt and earth and sun within him. I touch my leg and it is my leg now. I smile in return as I stand. He opens his arms and invites me into his world which was always mine to find.
We walk into the forest. I am no longer afraid.
Lianne
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